


Never Let Me Go

by HypnosThanatosTwin



Category: Hannibal (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter, BAMF!Stiles, But a lot happened differently in those, Changing POV's, During Season 01 Hannibal, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Post all Seasons Teen Wolf, and murder, and timelines, but it's also kind of fluffy, description of crime scenes, slightly unhealty relationships, will not be following canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1290757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HypnosThanatosTwin/pseuds/HypnosThanatosTwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are murders happening and everything points towards ritualistic cults. Will Graham knows it is only one person doing this, though he can't quite understand how only one person can do it. Hannibal just likes to watch, until he too is enthralled with the case. Well, at least with the effects it has on a certain profiler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fractured moonlight on the sea

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing of Hannibal or Teen Wolf is mine, you know the drill :) Have fun and enjoy!

**Fractured moonlight on the sea**

Will entered the crime scene and had to stop himself from breathing. The air inside the hotel room was heavy with blood and he had to be careful were to step. After the initial overwhelming shock wore of, Will focused back on Jack Crawfords voice, letting the words wash over him, while his mind went into overdrive.

“There are three bodies, two male, one female. All of them are strung up onto the ceiling and have been bled out.” there were flashes of cameras and people walking around the room making notes and examining the writing on the walls. “The blood was then used to make the room into this.” and he waved his hands around at the walls and floor. Will studied the runes that covered the walls and the floor. The lines were crawling outwards and then up the walls in a spiral, to meet again at the ceiling. At the centre stood a single blue flower in a delicate crystal vase. 

“We don't know what kind of flower it is, but Zeller is already on it.” Jack interrupts his silent observation. Will nods but doesn't answer. He is already trying to tap into the mind of the killer, trying to ignore the people leaving the room, now that Jack signalled them to leave. Will takes a centring breath and closes his eyes when the door behind him closes.

He can still see the room in his mind, the writing in blood, the flower, the bodies hanging from the ceiling, the equipment from the forensic team. The equipment goes first, then the writing slowly dissolves, the spiral spinning away. The furniture that has been shoved into the bedroom of the hotel suite, is back in the living room. In the end, the bodies are gone and the two men are sitting on the small sofa with a beer. Will can hear the woman grumbling from the bedroom.

He takes a step back. And another. He traces his path back towards the door and steps outside. The lock clicks softly as it falls shut and Will waits a moment to fall into the mind of the killer. Then he begins.

“I have planned this carefully, but I don't have much time.” he lets the key card fall into the lock and carefully opens the door. 

“I know they are leaving soon and I can't follow.” He steps inside, he has a bat or a pipe in his hand. Will focusses for a moment, before his weapon clears to be a cane. He takes one of the men by surprise an knocks him out, the other he overwhelms, Will isn't clear how, because the man is built like a train. He uses the man as a shield, when the woman comes in. She holds a silver coated knife as big as her fore arm. 

Will isn't quite sure how he subdues all three of them, because he isn't very tall or built and the cane isn't purely for decoration. He steps back and they are unconscious. He listens for a moment if anybody heard the commotion, but nobody comes. Will goes back outside an gets the bag he has brought. Time to get to work. These people have taken something from him. They are guilty and they will pay. 

“They will tell me what they know, and they will help me bring it back.” He takes the hooks from his bag and sets them into the ceiling. The rope he takes from one of the bags in the bedroom. He strings all three of them up and kills the men with efficient and precise stabs, catching the blood in a bowl. He shoves the furniture away and begins to write, while he waits for the woman to wake up.

Will snaps out of it as the barrier he had brought up started to collapse and the emotions of the killer trickled in. He had tried to keep his distance since Garret Jacob Hobbs, not wanting to get stuck with another killer inside his mind and dreams. So he had learned to ignore the emotions as good as he was able to, with being what Dr. Lecter called an empath.

He tried to catch his breath as he struggled to get his feelings back under control.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“You are hiding something from Jack. Something about the killer.” Hannibal said after Will told him about the case and they had started to discuss how the profiler was handling the pressure of being back after all that had happened with the last case.

Will hesitated for a moment, but Hannibal was used to it and actually enjoyed watching Will struggle with his words.

“There was something about the scene, something raw about the -” Will swallowed, thinking too long on the word, before continuing. “ - the killer.” Hannibal lifted his left eyebrow but otherwise remained silent, knowing that Will never wanted to call the minds he slipped into so easily killers, murderers or worse. 

“The scene was perfectly set up, it must have taken hours to get the writing all done with no single trace of the killer left behind. But there was.. when I was him...”

“There was a profound sense of loss.” Hannibal helped out as Will continued to struggle and smiled softly at the confused frown from the FBI teacher. The Therapist leant forwards slightly as he started to explain his conclusion.

“The spiral, there are some mythologies were it is a symbol for revenge, for a focus within chaos. Revenge is often inspired by strong emotions, and you mentioned the single flower in the centre of the scene. A token, a reminder why the murder was necessary. The most logical conclusion would be that the killer had just lost something, most likely someone, and to go to such lengths for revenge, the sense of grief must have unsettled you.” Hannibal had stood up during his explanation and had poured both of them a glass of wine. He put one of them in Wills hand and settled down again.

“I expect Jack has already called for someone to decipher the runes?” the Doctor asked and Will nods.

“Yeah, a woman from the Johns Hopkins University is coming by tomorrow. Apparently it's a hobby of hers.” Will takes a sip of the wine and Hannibal can see the dilation of his eyes in the pleasure of the taste. “Jack will probably call for you to come by, he likes to hear your opinion on things.”

Hannibal chuckles softly and Will catches his gaze for the first time that evening.

“I will gladly offer my services.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Ten years before-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She had been so caught up with Scott and werewolves and High School of all things, that she had almost forgotten about the winter ball. Allison and Lydia had reminded her, though, by grabbing her by her arms and dragging her to buy everything they needed. 

Which was how she found herself dressed in a deep green dress that was more elegant than she had ever been in her life. Her dads face had worn a sad and proud expression seeing her off to the ball. She knew why, she had seen herself in the mirror. She looked like her mom.

Stiles shook herself from her thoughts and looked around the ballroom. Scott was dancing with Allison and was most likely smiling sappily at the young hunter. Lydia was swaying in the arms of Jackson, leaning her head against the jerks shoulder. Stiles raised an eyebrow at that. Seems the trouble in paradise had ended. She sighed.

Despite all that had happened and what was going on right now, it seemed she was still alone in the end. She straightened up and with a quick look around she left the gym to take a breath of fresh air. She didn't know how she ended up on the lacrosse field. Stiles heard the slight vibration of her phone in the small purse she had brought, when something at the edge of the field caught her attention. There he was. Peter.

Stiles' heartbeat sped up, though not in fear. Because what no-one of the others knew, was that when her mother had been lying in the long term ward, while she slowly lost her mind, Stiles had visited the young patient in the adjacent room. She had talked to him, had told him things she had never told anybody. Not the miles a minute way that she was using nowadays to get people to back off, but calmly. Most of the time she had felt comfortable enough to speak with him in the native tongue of her mom and grandparents.

He hadn't been able to react. She wasn't even sure he heard any of what she said. But it had taken four years, before her mother took her final breath and almost every day she had been there. And sometimes she thought he reacted when she talked. A tick of a muscle, a twitch of the eye.

Now that she knew what happened to him, what he had done since he woke up, her heart didn't pick up speed because of fear. It sped up in anticipation.

He was walking up to her with his eyes starting to glow red.

“Peter.” she greeted him, her voice soft. He came to a halt just in front of her. His eyes shone with the fury of the wolf and his calculating intelligence. There was something else in them too, and it took her a while to recognize what it was. Longing.

“Przeszlawa.” he said as softly as she had done and her breath caught, as she heard her name for the first time in years.

“Am I yours?” Stiles asked in a whisper. He nodded an knelled before her as he started to nose her side. Her long pale fingers combed through his dark hair and her voice almost broke on the next words. “Make me yours.”

“Yes” he answered her and opened his mouth wide, their eyes connecting. Blood and whiskey. Then he bit down.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- Present -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dr. Hale was one of the women that where a little plain at first glance, but were striking when taking a closer look. Hannibal watched her with interest as she walked up towards them. She was using a cane to counter a barely there limp and her clothing was very casual, when compared to the likes of Alana or Miss Lounds. If he wasn't mistaken, then her shirt supported the Johns Hopkins Lacrosse team.

She greeted them with a cheerful smile and grimaced slightly at their reactions towards her, while she tried to contain the energy that was clearly running through her body.

“Sorry, I know I shouldn't be so cheerful, dead people and all, but it is kind of exciting to be asked to consult for the FBI.” she shrugged, slightly intimidated by the strict faces she is confronted with. Hannibal is watching from the sidelines, like he is used to do, and is surprised when she turns towards him first. They shake hands and he notices the unusual calluses on her hands, as well as the electric tremor of too much energy.

“It is a pleasure to meet one of the brightest minds in neuro-biology and surgery.” he says and means it, because he read and saw her work and she was brilliant. She blushes and it is the first sign that something is wrong with her. He watches as her cheeks go slightly pink, while all the other signs of pleasure are missing.

“It is a pleasure to hear that from one of the brightest minds ever.” she compliments back and winks at him while turning to greet the others, continuing with Will, who looks slightly stricken when she come so close she almost hugs him and then moving on to Jack Crawford, clearly staying out of his personal space. Hannibal breathes her in when she shifts back to his side as they walk into the room with the runes. The evidence team had put up a collage stretching around the room and Hannibal could almost imagine how it must have looked at the crime scene. He watches as Hale grows still as her eyes roam along the walls covered in pictures of calculated destruction.

“There were three people killed you said. How were they killed?” she asks as she walks around the room taking it all in.

“They were stabbed. Multiple wounds. “Crawford answered and watches her with a cautious eye. It is in that moment that Hannibal realizes that she isn't just a consultant, but also a suspect.

“Heart, stomach and neck.” she says, almost whispers and Will perks up, walking closer towards her. Hannibal watches as her focus went towards Will and how she opens up her body language towards him. She lifts her hand and carefully touches Will's neck as she explains. Their eyes meet and hold, and Hannibal can't look away from this out of character behaviour from the man who rarely can look into someone's eyes for only a moment.

“The neck as the seat of the mind, the spirit.” Her hand touches the left side of his chest lightly. “The heart as the seat of emotion.” The her fingertips rest for a moment longer against the centre of Will's body. “The stomach as the seat of the soul.” 

“So it is some kind of ritual?” Crawford interrupts and Hale steps back, gazing at the walls again. Hannibal watches as Will blinks back into the real world.

“It is the first step towards revenge.” The neuro-surgeon says as she waved at the walls around them. “The spiral represents the path of revenge, spiralling away into chaos, though your murderer let it come together again. Probably because he thinks he can stop, when he is finished.” she shrugs.

“What does it say? The runes?” Will asks.

“It's three words, always repeating. “ she says and her hand comes up to underline one of the sections of the writing. 

“What does it say?” Hannibal asks, curious if he was right. She looks up at him and he recognizes the darkness in her eyes is very close to his.

“Give him back.” their connection breaks and she looks at the other people in the room. “Most of these rituals are focused on patterns of three, so the first pattern is done. If I am right then you have only two more, until your murderer is gone and wont kill again.”

The FBI Agents nod, but Will takes a step closer to her again.

“What does the flower mean?” It actually stood on a table at the side of the room, a small plastic cube of protection around it, so any evidence from it was safe. “We knows it is a rare form of aconite, or wolfs bane in its common name.”

She was leaning a bit more on her cane now, she seemed a little more exhausted, than when they had begun this.

“It's poison and protection. To poison your enemy and protect your loved ones.” Hale says and she suddenly looks very pale. Hannibal rushes forward to catch her as she starts to sway on her feet. Will and Jack step closer, but give them space as Hannibal sets her down in one of the chairs. And Will was already preparing a glass of water. Hannibal felt her pulse and her temperature as she drank small sips from the glass with a thank you to Will.

“Do you know that your pregnant?” Hannibal asks and is amused at the shocked expression on Jack's and Will's face. Hale just smiles like the sun and nods, as her hand that had clenched her cane a moment before, settled on her lower body.

“You haven't lost your legendary gift of observation, I see, Dr. Lecter.” she laughed at him as he smiled at her. “Yes, I know. I'm still getting used to the idea, but my body keeps reminding me.”

“The transition can be very hard in the first weeks. If I'm allowed to ask, does the father know?” he asks softly, carefully. There is an ocean of grief in her eyes as she looks down at his kneeling form, but it is gone in the next split second.

“Not yet.” she says. “I want to tell him in person, and right now, my husband is overseas for one of his clients.” she looks at them and laughs. “No worries, I have friends looking after me.” 

Beverly Katz knocks on their door and looks in to find Jack and Will standing around the sitting Dr. Hale and Dr. Lecter kneeling in front of Hale, holding her wrist. Her dark eyebrows rise in her usual “Really?” expression.

“There are two men at the front desk, asking if Dr. Hale will be down shortly, or if they should already start with the shopping and come back later.” she says and the woman stands up, getting help from Lecter and Will.

“That should be my entourage. If it is okay, I would leave you to your case.” All eyes go towards Jack, who sighs and nods. Hannibal takes the woman by her arm, letting her lean on him and carrying her cane. Will follows them, not able to stop observing Dr. Hale. Katz lifted her eyebrows again as she looks back at Jack, but he just shakes his head at her and tells her what they had learned from Dr. Hale about the runes and the ritual.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Ten years before-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The first thing she noticed was pain. Pure agony was seeping through her skin, her teeth and muscles towards the core of her bones. She was vaguely aware that she was screaming her lungs out. She could taste the copper of her blood on her tongue. Later, she barely remembers the pain, but she remembers desperate eyes in red an blue. She remembers Peter begging her to stop screaming. Remembers Peter and Derek holding desperately onto her with stark, black veins running up their arms.

But that was later. Right in that moment, all she knows is what she feels coursing through her entire body. 

Pure, uncontrolled, unimaginable power.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Stiles wakes up in a foreign bed. She takes a deep breath and feels as if she is breathing for the very first time. She feels weak and exhausted, but at the same time, she feels set in her bones. For the first time since she can remember there is no fluctuating energy running along her nerves like striking electricity, making her thoughts jump around without pause. 

She takes another breath and smiles as her fingers close around the soft shell of an ear and slightly coarse hair.

“Peter.” her voice is barely more than a whisper, but it is enough to wake him. Blue eyes greet her and she grimaces a smile. He's by her side in an instant, breathing her in, roaming her with his eyes.

“You're back.” he breathes with relief. Stiles frowns slightly.

“Was I gone?” his hands had captured both of hers and she noticed how warm he was, how cold she was. She began to shiver.

“You almost died.” Peter says, his words choked. Stiles lets the words settle for a moment and searches inside of her. Her senses are slightly unusual, but not what Scott had described, she was also alone in her mind, just her.

“I'm not a wolf.” she says, and there is fear inside of her. She always knew that she was somehow broken, she always feared she could never be what was needed of her. She was a stupid teenage girl with delusions to her position in life.

Peter whined, smelling her emotions going haywire.

“You're perfect.” He says and pulls her into his arms. She sobs into his shoulder and he holds her, drawing the coldness out of her limbs with his body heat. “You're a Red.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

TBC


	2. In the Arms of the Ocean

**In the Arms of the Ocean**

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Six-Teen years before-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He doesn't know how long he has been there, time was passing differently. 

Most of the time he isn't there. Most of the time he's breathing smoke and fire is licking up his skin. Most of the time he is stuck with the screams of his pack in his ears and the sickening crack and shattering of the bonds. He could feel his mind being consumed by hate and vengeance. 

He had been left behind. A broken shell, not enough to be taken with the last remainders of his family, apparently. They left him behind. 

The few times he was aware of his surroundings he was moved by nurses, looked at by doctors or fed and washed. But it was all removed from his perception of reality. He couldn't access it, there was a barrier, a veil he couldn't lift. He could barely understand what they said to him, if they said something at all.

The first thing he notices is her scent. It's cool and soothing like rain falling on leaves. He misses the forest just after the rain. 

He can't see her because the nurses have turned his chair away from the entrance, towards the window, but he hears her. All his senses are suddenly focussed on whoever had just entered the room. He hears her erratic little heart and her uneven breath. Smells her sadness, her resignation.

He wants to see her. To touch her. To mix their scents.

He wants to comfort her and he does not know why.

Peter can hear her taking his file, reading through the reports. She calms down while she reads his medical history and when she is finished, she comes closer towards him. He can glimpse her in his periphery vision and then she stands right in front of him.

With him sitting, she is almost tall enough to look him directly into his eyes. Hers are beautiful. 

She is maybe eleven or twelve years old, but her eyes are much older. She looks at him for a long moment and he wishes he could reach beyond the veil for the first time since the fire. For the first time since he had been left behind and had felt those last bonds stretch and fade.

Slowly, as if she is not sure if she wants to do it, she lays her hand above his, her warmth seeping into his skin. 

“I'm Przeszlawa Stilinski, I hope you don't mind me being here.” she takes her hand away and steps away from him, towards the window.

“My mom's in the room beside yours.” she says and the sadness in her scent intensifies. There is a protective instinct in him, that hasn't been there since forever and he curses that he is stuck inside his own mind.

His reality fades before she leaves. He is vaguely aware that she keeps talking and it helps to focus on that instead of the screams of the dying. Her cool scent soothing the heat of the fire in his lungs. He could almost feel the brush of her fingers on his when she left. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Present-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Will didn't know what to think. He was pretty sure that Dr. Hale was the killer. But how did she do it? The killer had worked alone, he was certain of that. Nothing at the scene had suggested that there had been a second or third perpetrator.

Will studied her as she was led out by Dr. Lecter. She was muscular, but slight, probably because of the physical therapy for her hip. She didn't look strong enough to be able to put down three armed and stronger opponents. Was he getting something wrong?

He hoped so, because there was something about her. Something that calmed his frantic thoughts. Almost in the way Hannibal did, but different.

With Dr. Lecter he had to learn to trust the man, with Hale it was almost instinctual.

“Ah, there they are. Thank you gentlemen for bringing me all the way.” she was almost hugging him again and Will found himself wishing that she did. She didn't go quite as close to Hannibal, but she was still in his personal space.

They both watched as she went over to the two men waiting for her. One of them was dark haired and broad shouldered. He had intense eyes and a soft smile as he looked at Hale. The other man was also taller than her, but not as built as the other. He also had lighter hair than his companions.

Will's eyes widened as both men hugged Hale at the same time, making a slight mess of their limbs. Dr. Hale just laughed and hugged them back, while kind of nosing both their cheeks. She pushed them both away with a smile and then they left, arms brushing and fingers trying to hold onto her.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hannibal watches as Will roams around the room, glancing at the books, brushing by the windows, never coming to rest. The profiler was apparently in deep thought, and as much as he wanted to just continue to watch him like an animal in a cage, they were here to talk.

“What do you know about the victims?” Hannibal asked, trying to coax Will into a conversation about the case. The other man looked up at him and then away, going towards the windows again, just to come back and sit down in his usual chair. 

“They were moving weapons across the country, mostly for the manufacturers, sometimes even for the government. The woman and one of the men were brother and sister, the other was her husband. According to the people in the hotel, she was the leading force between the three. Their names are-” he sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. Hannibal had sat down as well in the time Will had talked and looked at the dark bruises under Will's eyes with... concern. 

“They had several ID's in their bags, but the ones they were using here and with their government jobs were Renee, Joel and Keith Prata.” Hannibal hummed at that, drawing Will's eyes towards him.

“I assume the husband took the woman's name.” he said and Will nodded. “Is the FBI looking for the other ID's they found?”

“Yeah, it's all pretty suspicious.” Will mumbled against his hands again as he yawned into them. “I should probably go home.”

“You are very exhausted, I don't think it is safe for you to drive all the way out to your house.” Hannibal said and looked down at Will, then turning around and reaching for his keys. “ I have a perfectly good guest room and it's only a few minutes away.”

Will isn't quite sure if he got the chance to say no, but he found himself in between soft, cool sheets just half an hour later, in a bed that was probably five times more expensive than his own, falling asleep. He is never sure if there were fingertips brushing his locks out of his face, just before he was pulled under.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It is the full moon and Stiles is standing inside a circle of mountain ash, unperturbed about the three fully shifted omegas running against the barrier constantly. It had been an exhausting ritual to draw the three of them here, but she had done it.

As she opened her eyes to look at them they weren't glowing, but they were filled with red. In one impressive move she slammed the tip of her cane into the centre of the circle. The concussive wave of the power released by that action, threw the three wolves against the concrete walls of the warehouse, knocking them out.

Stiles drew a knife made of a mountain ash tree from the sheath at her hip. It had been soaked in wolfs bane for three days. She drew a slow breath to calm herself. It had to be done. She would never lose him.

With the red flowing in her eyes, she stepped out of the circle.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Twelve Years Before-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She had grown from a little girl into almost a woman. The veil was barely there when she was with him. He could almost reach out.

Instead she held his hands and spoke to him, told him about everything that was happening at school, at home, at the precinct. About her fathers cases. About her mothers disease. About how afraid she was that she would end up that way. 

She was the one light in the reaches of his dark, bloody and twisted mind. She was the one thing the wolf inside of him didn't want to kill in a rage of pain and loss. She was the only thing worth protecting.

But something was wrong today.

She was smelling of salt, tears on her cheeks. It was in the middle of the night. He had heard quite some commotion in the corridors half an hour earlier.

“My Dad isn't here yet.” she says and she reaches out for his hands, but doesn't take a hold of them, just her fingertips brushing his skin. Her scent hasn't changed in the last years, still cool like the forest and it will linger on his skin for hours. “They wont let me back now.”

There is another tear rolling down her cheek and her face scrunches up as she tries to hold back the sob wanting to break out of her chest.

“I wont be able to come back for you, Peter.” she stands from her usual chair and sits down beside his bed, a tear falls on their now joined hands. “Not now that my mom's-”

She takes a gasped breath.

“Not now that she's dead.” He can smell her pain, her devastation, her fear and anger. He tries to squeeze her hand and she tries to smile at him.

“I will be sent to my grandparents for a few months.” she says and he knows that she hates it. She had always been gone for the summers, spending it with her grandparents in Europe. It was a twisted feeling she had with them, she had once told him. She knew that they cared about her, but sometimes she knew that her grandfather was looking at her as if he was searching for something dark.

“I don't want to leave my Dad.” She takes a shaky breath and brushes the tears away with her free hand. “I don't want to leave you.”

She leans down and their cheeks are pressed against each other, her lips just beside his ear.

“Don't let me go.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Present-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Will wakes up to the ringing of his phone. He reaches out to shut it down, knowing that the name on the display would be Jack. He didn't want to hear from the man just now. It wasn't the thing he wanted to hear first thing in the morning. As he pulls his arms back into the folds of heavenly warmth his eyes fall onto Hannibal sitting in an armchair a little away from the bed. 

The eyes of the doctor are open, most likely woken up by the same thing as Will. Blue-grey and brown meet, both of them still in the grasp of the early morning.

“Did you watch me while I was sleeping?” Will asks, not sure if he was unsettled by the thought.

“I guarded your sleep, yes.” Hannibal says and Will notices that his barely there accent is thicker after just waking up. “You had a nightmare, it seemed to help as I stayed.”

Will doesn't know what to think about that. He knows that he is blushing from embarrassment and that there is an uncomfortable knot of emotions in his chest, but he doesn't know what to think. He can't remember having a nightmare, in fact, he can't remember having ever slept so well in the last months. He actually feels rested and he is grateful for that.

“I'm sorry I woke you up.” he mumbles but Hannibal just waves it away as he stands and tries to order his wrinkled clothing. Will can't help but smile at the therapist in his ruffled state. 

His phone rings again and he puts it on silent. It was just after six in the morning, whatever it was, it could wait. Hannibal chuckled as if he had heard his thought and his brown eyes smiled at Will.

“I will make something to eat. There is a small bathroom down the hall, on the right.” their eyes linger on each other and it is beginning to be slightly awkward, so Will's gaze slides away and around the room, then towards his hands. 

“You can take your call after breakfast.” the doctor says as he leaves the room. The door is slightly ajar, so Will can hear the man's steps going up the stairs and after a while he can hear a shower starting in the distance. He remains in the warmth of the bed for a while, his thoughts unusually still and calm. He doesn't know if he wants to linger on what had just happened.

He goes to take his own shower when he hears Hannibal humming along with one of the classical pieces playing in the background and the smell of eggs and bacon fills the air.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack was pretty pissed off about being ignored and he showed it with the full power of his disapproving stares and comments. The calm emotions of the morning were quickly replaced by Jack's resentment and uncomfortable quiet. Will feels weak again, barraged with emotions not his own and the rest he got last night isn't enough to build walls against it.

It's another crime-scene of course. It feels worse than the one before. Again there are three bodies, but it is messier. The blood was painted onto the floor of one of the old Warehouses in the district, the red brick walls reaching for the grey skies. Again Will tries not to step into the spiral left on the floor. The killer didn't bother with words this time. The bodies are placed around a perfect circle of black powder, they almost form a second circle around it. In the centre of it is the small vial and the delicate blue flower.

Will can see black veins crawling from the stab wounds in the bodies, he notices the placement in the neck, heart and stomach. He can also see that their arms have been ripped open, the flesh in their legs has been torn apart. Will hears the door behind him close, as the last person from the evidence team leaves. He begins.

“It is time to continue the ritual and I have brought everything.” he sets his bag down and goes towards the middle of the room, there is a hand of black powder in his hand and he forms a circle to safely stand in.

“I called them here and I know they will come.” he waits inside the circle and the three men enter through the door. They are angry and insulting him. He remains in his circle.

“I hate them. They betrayed me, they betrayed the one I lost. They will help me get him back.” He can see himself throwing the men across the room, though he can't comprehend how he can do that.

“They will pay for what they did.” he pulls out a dull knife drenched with poison. 

“This is my design.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Stiles looks up to find Derek in the door to the kitchen and she notices that she has been staring at the counter in front of her for ten full minutes. She smiles and shakes her head.

“I just miss him.” she says and he steps in to guide her to one of the chairs. 

“He'll be back soon” he says and Stiles almost sobs, but doesn't, because she can't give it away. They don't know. The pack doesn't know. So she just nods and keeps smiling.

“I know. I'm just a little nervous about telling him about the baby.” and Derek chuckles. 

“I don't think you have to tell him, he will smell it on you as soon as he enters the same room.” 

“Oh stop it, go and get the others down, dinner is almost ready.” she shoves him towards the door. He is almost out of the room when he turns around suddenly and stares at her in wonder.

“What? What is it?” she asks alarmed.

“Their hearts just started beating.” there is so much amazement in his voice, and she feels awkward under his reverent stare. Then her mind catches up to his words. She stands up and her hand automatically goes towards her abdomen. 

“What? What do you mean their hearts, as in more than one?” she looks down at her belly and tries to imagine the life that was growing inside of her. Derek comes closer and she can hear Isaac and Erica coming down the stairs. He kneels and presses his ear against her body. 

“Hello there.” he says and she's going to give him so much crap about that later, but for now she really needs to know.

“Derek, tell me.” her own heart is beating loudly in her chest.

“There are two.” he says and looks up with a smile. She realizes she's crying when a tear falls onto his face. He's suddenly there and embraces her and she starts sobbing. It's only seconds before Erica and Isaac are wrapping themselves around her as well. It makes her laugh and sob at the same time.

“I just wish Peter could be here.” Erica nods as Stiles whispers the words, not knowing that Peters last breath was sitting just behind Stiles' lungs. It was the only thing that kept the pack from knowing their alpha was dead.

If her plan was successful, they would never find out.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody is interested in the timeline and ages of the TW charas:  
> Present:  
> Stiles: 27 and Peter: 38  
> Season 01 TW (10 years before):  
> Stiles: 17 and Peter: 28  
> Stiles' Mom died:  
> Stiles' 15 and Peter: 25  
> First Time meeting between the two:  
> Stiles: 11 and Peter: 22
> 
> It just helps me keep track of the timelines when I'm writing, I thought I would share it with you :)
> 
> Tell me what you think of the chap! Thank you for reading!


	3. Looking up from Underneath

Looking up from Underneath

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Four weeks before-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Stiles had just finished explaining the experimental treatment to a patient of hers, when she felt it. A horrific twist just behind her heart. She didn't have to think about it, she just ran and then drove.

She found him in a back-alley near his work. He was gasping and choking on blood and black liquid. She fell to her knees besides him.

“No no no no.” she whispered, grasping his head and moving him so he was resting in her lap. “Peter!”

“Stiles.” he gasped as his eyes opened and found her. “The omegas betrayed us.” she could barely understand him but she did hear it and her eyes filled with red. Her gaze took in his wounds and she knew she didn't have much time. 

“Do it, my little Red.” he grimaced a smile and she remembered the early days, when he was almost feral in his thirst for revenge. She let herself be filled with power as her gaze went completely crimson. She lent down and their mouths where almost touching.

“Don't let me go.” he gasped against her lips and she breathed in. It was a long, hot breath that burned her insides, though she didn't stop until it was settled safely just behind her lungs. When it was over, she didn't have the time to cry, she had to get the body somewhere safe, she had to find out what had happened and then she would bring Peter back. Getting revenge on the way was just a bonus.

Her red gaze traced the contours of Peters face and her thumb caressed his cheek, smearing some drops of his blood. She would enjoy every moment of ripping them apart.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Present-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“We established the trinity of the murder the first time, Dr. Hale, we were just asking if you could tell us more.” Jack asked the woman currently sitting in the room with the photos again, only this time there were two crime-scenes to be seen and another flower had joined the first one. She was currently studying the mug-shots of the six victims.

“There are many kinds of rituals including human sacrifices, Agent Crawford.” she says calmly and Will has a hard time breathing when he sees a glimpse of raw hate in her eyes. “As you may know, there was a woman in my home town, who was of the opinion it made her stronger, prettier and more powerful if she was killing strong, beautiful and intelligent people.” Dr. Hale looks up at that and shakes her head.

Jack looks almost shameful when he speaks again.

“I'm sorry for bringing it up, I know two of your friends lost their lives to that mad woman.” he takes a step towards her. “But I have to know if whoever is killing those people now, is going after something or someone specific.”

“The reoccurring theme is revenge, Agent Crawford, I think what you should be focussing on is, what did those people do” she pointed at the six pictures before her. “that warranted all of this.” her hand waved to the pictures along the wall.

There was something different about Dr. Hale compared to the day they met. There was a lot less energy in her movements. She seemed tired and drained. Will almost stepped towards her to let her lean on him. He was still musing about this later in Dr. Lecter's office.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Ten Years Before-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Krystian Stilinski is sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands and praying to every deity he knows. It wasn't working. It hasn't been working for the last four days. His daughter was still missing. The last of her seen when she left that gym on the night of the winter ball. Scott had tried to call her a few minutes later, but she hadn't picked up. When he had gone to look for her, all he had found was her purse, her phone and drops of blood.

It had been hers. Krystian has been terrified ever since. He couldn't lose her. He couldn't lose his beautiful, clever girl, who spoke sarcasm fluidly. She had told him that she didn't want to go to the ball. She felt like she would be the only one who would be alone in the end, all the others pairing of. She went for her friends. For Scott, who wanted to go with Allison, but somehow that wasn't possible. For Lydia, which had surprised Krystian, because Stiles had despised that girl since fourth grade. Ever since she found out that Lydia was highly intelligent and hid it to be popular.

He knew that she had tried to befriend the girl for a while, but it hadn't worked out. Until now, apparently. The three had gone together and,just as Stiles had predicted, she had been left in a corner. The Sheriff knew that Stiles hadn't been hurt by that, she was happy for her friends. He sighed again. Sometimes he knew his daughter too well, because at the same time he knew she had been disappointed. Which was probably the reason why she went outside. She had always needed some time alone to sort out her mind.

She hadn't come back. 

The whole Sheriff Department was out looking for her. His Deputies had forced him to go home three hours ago, to get some rest. He couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes his mind came up with one horrific scene after another. As a Sheriff he knew that everything he could imagine, and worse, could have happened. And he was powerless.

He took a shaking breath and rubbed at his eyes, trying to get the moisture and tiredness out of them. It wasn't working.

There was a bang at his front-door and Krystian was standing. Another bang and he could hear the door give in and open. He was out of the kitchen and in the Entry-hall in a flash.

“Stiles!” it was a choked gasp that escaped his throat as he saw his little girl. In that moment he didn't care that she was carried by a man he didn't recognize, or that she was wearing clothes that didn't belong to her, he just cared that she was back.

“Sheriff Stilinski, she needs you.” the stranger tells him and walks towards the living-room, kicking the front-door closed with a twist of his heel. Krystian follows and kneels besides his unconscious daughter, who the stranger has laid down on the sofa. He takes one of her hands in his own, sighing in relief when he finds them warm and alive.

It is a few moments before he notices the change in his daughter. He frowns and shakes his head, trying to get rid of it. It's still there.

His wife, Claudia, she had been terrified when they got the news that they were getting a baby-girl. Krystian had never understood why, until she was dying and told him of what she said was a curse in her family. He had listened to her, had heard her pleadings to be careful, to protect Stiles, to not let it awaken in their daughter. He had thought it part of her delusions and hallucinations. The dementia in her brain almost in its final stages. But it had been sitting in his brain ever since.

And now it was staring him in the face.

Krystian looked away from his daughter, his grip on her tightening, towards the man who had brought Stiles back. It took him a moment before he actually recognised the man, as the last time he had seen him, he had been covered in scars.

“Peter Hale.” he said, and the blue eyes that had been fixed on Stiles met his. A nod.

“You're supposed to be in a coma.” the Sheriff continued.

“I got better.” came the dry reply and the blue eyes turned back to Stiles.

“You know, I remember having to drag her out of your room back when...” Claudia was dying, he didn't finish the sentence. There's a red gleam in Hales eyes and Krystian is pretty sure it is no trick of the light.

“She helped.” Peter Hale whispers and Krystian is a little overwhelmed with the implications and conclusions his mind comes up with.

“What happened?” he asks instead. Because he has to know. His daughter feels different, changed and his wife has warned him about this. How was he meant to protect her, if he didn't know everything there was to know. She was the only thing left in his heart that meant more than the world to him.

Hale inhales and his eyes glow an eary red when he looks at the Sheriff again.

“Let's start with werewolves.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Present-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hannibal stares at the pictures of the crime scenes. He has been left alone for a moment and, as his eyes wandered over the faces of the six victims, a thought came to him. These people had been incredibly rude.

Conspiring against and murdering Dr. Hale's husband. He could relate to her psychotic break in the most distant way. If he'd believed there was a way to bring back - 

He cut of his thoughts and turned his gaze back towards the crime scene photos. For a moment he marvelled at the meticulous art in front of him.

“The new moon after the Worm Moon is in two days.” Will said in his hesitant voice and stepped up beside Hannibal. The doctor turned his attention towards the man he considered a friend immediately. He could almost admit to himself, that he had formed an obsession towards the man.

“You think that will be of relevance?” Hannibal asked.

“The Worm Moon marks the end of winter and the returning of life, same with the new moon, it is the darkness before the returning of light.” was all the empath answered.

Will stayed for dinner at Hannibal's that evening. He stayed in the guest room again. For the second night in a long line of nights, he slept peacefully and woke fully rested. He tried not to think about it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Coincidentally, they meet in one of the grocery stores Hannibal sometimes uses to acquire just the right ingredients for dinner, the day before the new moon. She smiles warmly at him as she looks up from the red beets.

“Doctor Lecter, nice to meet you.” she says and she does light up with happiness, so he believes her. It was strange to think of her as the killer, when he had her standing before him, leaning on a cane, smelling of her pregnancy. He noticed the two men, who had escorted her before, lurking in the background, already carrying a few bags of groceries.

“It is nice to meet in friendlier circumstances.” he replies and returns the smile with one of his warmer ones. “Are you preparing for a dinner?” he asks and nods towards the two men. She turns slightly to look into the directions he pointed and laughs.

“No, just getting the usual.” she says and starts to pile a good kilo of red beets into a bag. “I have to feed my pack of wolves after all.” she continues, and it is then that Hannibal notices that they hadn't been speaking English in the last few minutes, but Czech. He turns towards Hale with slightly narrowed eyes.

“I assume they don't speak Czech?” he asks and Hale tilted her head in a yes. “Do they know about the murders?”

“Only what they heard of it on the news and that I consult for the FBI.” she answers and puts the bag in her cart. “Does your Will know about you?” she returns the question and Hannibal is surprised she had the guts to ask.

“No.” he simply answers and she looks at him in a manner of sympathy and understanding. “And he isn't mine.”

He is about to turn away when she shakes her head and has his attention again.

“He wants to be.” she says and makes her way over to the red onions. Hannibal can't help but follow.

“What do you mean?” he can't resist to ask. She puts back the onion she just inspected and turns towards him. Her gaze is serious, her stance and focus is entirely on him. It is a strange feeling for him to be in the centre of all that attention, he is more used to watch from the sidelines. She takes a step closer before she starts to explain.

“Your Will is being pulled into every direction. It is exhausting and unhealthy. He is depraved of human contact and kindness, everything he comes to know is death and humanities cruel desires that start to overshadow his own.” she takes a step closer still and put her delicate, though calloused and slightly scarred, hand just over his heart.

“He needs an Anchor.” their eyes meet and Hannibal frowns as he thinks he sees a sliver of red flit through her left eye. “He wants it to be you, though he hasn't acknowledged it yet.”

Hannibal lets it sink in and Hale takes her hand away after a moment, returning to sort through the onions.

“The new moon after the Worm Moon is tomorrow night.” he says instead of the question he wants to ask. “The FBI suspect the third ritual will happen then.” he watches as her hand stops shortly, before continuing to reach for the next onion to be put into one of her bags.

“They are probably right.” Hale says calmly and puts this bag into the cart as well. 

“It was nice meeting you here, Doctor Lecter.” she continues in English, signalling the end of their conversation.

“I agree, I wish you a pleasant evening Doctor Hale.” and then they parted ways. Each of them looking for the right ingredients for their evening meal.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It's the day of the new moon an Will is back in the evidence room where everything is displayed to view and think through. He can't help but think that he is missing something. He still isn't sure how any one person could do this. The physical strength alone would be rare to find and still, his gut told him it was Dr. Hale. There were no sedatives, nothing that could explain how she could have done it.

There had been poison in the second ritual, yes, but it was applied to kill and cause agonizing pain, not to weaken and overwhelm. Every time he reconstructed the crime-scenes everything arranges almost as if by magic. He couldn't come up with an explanation. Was he wrong in suspecting Dr. Hale?

His feelings about Dr. Hale didn't help. There was a calm surrounding her that he longed for, a focus in her mind that he envied. He had felt so all over the place in the last months, he wanted to just be in the here an now, but he was pulled every which way. He couldn't stand the feeling.

“Agent Crawford said that I would find you here.” a voice startled him from his thoughts and Will turned around.

Dr. Hale was standing in the doorway, her gaze sliding around the room once before landing on him. She stepped into the room and Will had to force himself to keep standing and not back away as she came towards him.

“Doctor Hale, hello.” he said, his voice wavering slightly as his eyes tried to avoid looking at her, looking at the photos, evidence bags and cases instead.

“I heard you suspect the last ritual to happen tonight.” she stated more than asked as she came to a stop at his side, smiling up at him. He nodded shakily and rubbed his brow as the heat he thought he had stopped with his pills this morning, crept in again and started to cloud his mind. The first signs of the too familiar head-ache settling in again. Hale began to frown at this and stepped even closer.

“May I?” she asked and before he could say anything, her hands were on his head, feeling for his temperature and the sweat in his hair.

“How long have you been running a fever, Agent Graham?” her question startled him and he had to think for a moment before he could answer.

“On and of for a few months, maybe three?” he said and her gaze turned angry as she looked up at him.

“I suppose I don't have to tell you how stupid you are for not going to a Doctor with this.” she scolded coldly, sending Will's mind into a whirl of confusion with the sudden change from her usual so warm character. He felt as if he was punched in the gut as he remembered that despite her casual clothing and her expertise in the occult, Dr. Hale was first and foremost one of the best neurosurgeons and biologists.

“I didn't think it was serious, it went away for a while.” the look she gave him shut down that thought pretty vehemently.

“So, what else? Headaches?” she asks and he nods. “Nightmares? Hallucinations? Insomnia? Lost time?” she continued with several more questions and he continued nodding or shaking his head. She finished with asking if there was anything else.

“Sleep walking, once I woke up walking down the street in the middle of the night.” he admitted and for a moment he wondered if he should tell her about the stag. But she was deep in thought, going through his symptoms, muttering obscenities under her breath.

In the end she took out a pen and a prescription block and shoved a prescription in Will's face.

“I want you to get those pills today and take one every five hours on the dot, capiche?” her eyes burned with the demand and he couldn't help but say he understood. “And I want you to come to my office on Monday, earliest as possible, so that I can get to the bottom of this.”

“Okay.” Will said and looked down at the paper she gave him. Was it not insanity that was creeping into his mind, but simply a disease? Hope began to grow in his chest. Before he could stop himself, he looked up into her eyes and asked about the stag.

“There is a stag following me in my dreams, and sometimes I see him when I'm awake. He's made of raven feathers, and sometimes I have the feeling I should follow him.” Dr. Hale startled at his question, giving him a surprised look, before she turned a different kind of thoughtful than before. Now all the little signs of agitation and flitting turns of thoughts vanished into the focussed stillness he so envied.

“A difficult question.” she says at last. “It could be a result of your fever, your hallucinations, but-” her eyes meet his and he has to force himself not to look away from those whisky orbs, because he saw too much, and he saw nothing at all. “You know, a lot of people with your kind of gift, they carry a special kind of attention from the world in between. To be watched, sometimes protected, sometimes to be eliminated as a threat.”

She looks away from him, her gaze distant.

“Most of the time the spirit visiting symbolizes someone in your vicinity that can help you, stabilize you.” she turns away with a bitter smile. “It can be horrifying sometimes.”

Will looks at her and suddenly she seems frail and exhausted.

“What is yours?” he asks, almost a whisper. Her gaze wanders over his shoulder and he can barely stop himself from turning around, knowing that whatever she saw, he wouldn't be able to see it.

“A monster of a wolf with glowing red eyes.” she whispers and a shiver runs up his spine as her smile fills up with longing. “It represents my husband. He's very protective of me, especially since-” 

She wiggles pointedly with her cane, before she turns away from him and starts limping towards the door.

“What happened?” he calls after her and she turns around with a bitter smile.

“Wild animal attack.” she answers and opens the door to leave. “Don't forget to come to my praxis on Monday, earliest as possible. I'll be there by six in the morning.” she calls over her shoulder as the door closes behind her.

Will is deeply lost in thought when Agent Crawford joins him half an hour later. He is jolted from his mind with one rough question.

“Did someone take the flowers down to the lab, I thought they were already processed?”

Wills eyes immediately sought out the table where he had just studied them, but the delicate blue blossomed greenery had indeed vanished. Will's stomach turned with sudden dread.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, I've finally managed to post the next chapter, yay! There are maybe one or two chapters left in this story... Hopefully I wont keep you waiting as long as with this chapter, fortunately I had a week off from work to write this up, but now its back to real life...
> 
> Hope you like it, even though we're all murderers here in this story ;)


	4. Found the Place to Rest my Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it! Yay! I hate writing endings, I just have so many little scenes in my head that would be too much... meh, maybe later... 
> 
> For now, this is it people :) I hope you like it, I had a lot of fun.

**Found the Place to Rest my Head**

The air was cold but still.

The new moon had risen an hour ago and Stiles had left the Pack at home in a lethargic pile in front of the TV. Twenty-one candles were lit and created a perfect circle inside the small clearing. The third ritualistic murders had already happened a few days ago, the scene not yet found by the FBI. Stiles was relieved that they hadn't.

The three people murdered had provided the information the Omegas and the Hunters needed to kill her husband. People that had answered questions, sold things, that they shouldn't have. For their lack of integrity they had paid. 

Stiles thought about the FBI's theories and took a deep breath. Tonight was not for killing.

Tonight was about bringing life.

Peters body was lying in the centre of the circle upon a stretcher she had stolen from the hospital. Stiles was standing at his head and held the three Aconite flowers in her left hand. She closed her eyes for a moment to steel herself and when she opened them up again, they were filled with red.

She cupped her right hand over the flowers and began to chant in a language very few would understand, but came inherently to her mind.

There was an echoing quality building in her voice and the space between her hands began to emit a warm yellow glow, which grew brighter with every repeat of her spell. Her voice began filling the air and it was not just her voice that chanted into the in between, whispers joining her out of nowhere. It all crescendoed with the glow in her hand becoming a searing white and for a moment she thought she was holding the sun herself, before the light dimmed and the only glow remaining came from the twenty-one candles.

She removed her right hand and found the flowers had turned into a fine blue ash. Still chanting, her voice the only one filling the silence now, she dipped the fingers of her right hand into the ash and started to paint a circle over Peters heart.

She had cleaned the body. It had been the first thing she had done after she had brought it to safety. The gashes looked almost fake now, without any blood to fill them.

The candles flickered without there being any shift in the air and Stiles painted a second circle onto Peters forehead. There were again whispers joining her chant and the light of the candles grew warmer as she took the last of the ash and drew the third circle over his stomach.

The air seemed to pulse with energy now, the light going dark and bright in the rhythm of a heart-beat on the run. Stiles lent forward and aligned her lips with Peters as she chanted the whole spell on the longest and deepest intake of air. The beat in her ears and skin sank down until it reached her bones and she could feel the heat just behind her lungs break free.

The pulse guiding her slowed down impossibly, and as carefully as she could, she exhaled.

The breath blistered her tongue and her lips, but she ignored the pain and the taste of blood and ozone, and continued. If she had looked, she would have seen the gashes slowly closing, the grey flesh turning pink again, the still chest slowly rising. But she couldn't look as her blood-red eyes blinded her with the power going through her. All she could see in that moment was crimson.

As the last of breath left her, her body began to shake with a sudden cold spreading through her and her knees buckled under her as she gasped for her own breath. She didn't fall to the ground though, because there was a strong pair of arms holding her up.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Will tossed and turned. Light flickered in the darkness behind his eyelids and his dreams were filled with voices echoing out of nowhere. His dogs, his loyal strays, watched and whined in sympathy, the bigger ones putting their heads on the edge of the bed and the smaller ones pressing up against it. 

They had tried to wake him, but all the barking and pulling on the sheets hadn't brought their master out of his dreams. His heartbeat had been spiking and tripping and they grew worried and hopeless as they could do nothing to protect their alpha. All of them sagged a little more into themselves as Will made a sound as if he was moments away from death.

There was a sound like a thunderclap and then the whole of Wolf Trap grew silent.

The dogs sat up as if feeling a presence enter the room and barely dared to breathe. Will had curled into a ball on the bed, the sheets twisted around him, restraining him, but he also was lying still and breathing silently, his breath slow and steady for the first time tonight.

Then there was the sound of a hoof striking the wooden floor. Just a step, not angry but almost soft, though in the total silence it echoed in the room. There was another step and a third, and then through a door that was too small, but somehow fit, came a stag made of raven feathers. Its dark, intense eyes where focused on the curled up human on the bed and for a moment it stopped and the atmosphere in the room flickered between benevolent and sharp fury. One of the smaller dogs whined pitifully as the majestic spirit decided the course of their saviour.

Another step and the stag leant down, the massive antlers towering over the sleeping figure. The shadows they threw where darker than the night around them, the blackness in them seemed to move. The stag lowered his head until the curled up man on the bed was trapped between the cage of these dark branches. There was a moment where the stag studied the face of Will as if trying the see something, then, with a swirl of black feathers, it was gone.

The dogs relaxed on to the floor as they curled around each other and fell asleep. 

Will slept on peacefully, straightening out in his bed, the sheets untangling from his body. He woke shortly two hours later to take his next dosage of pills, which Dr. Hale had prescribed him to take every fifth hour and actually managed to fall back asleep afterwards. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The veil between worlds was very thin that night, powered by pure energy. It was a night of darker shadows and almost there whispers. The ancient tribes had called nights like these the Bad Moons.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hannibal dreams. He dreams of roaming as a four-legged-creature, his head heavy and the sound of rustling feathers in his ears. He walks through darkness, but in the distance he can see a small girl leading him. Her blonde hair reflects pale and he wants to get closer. He feels powerful like this. The feeling when you take a deep breath while standing in a storm, the feeling just before breathing out. Maybe like this he could reach her.

Instead he wakes up. His unseeing eyes stare into the darkness of his ceiling as his thoughts roam the possibilities and decisions he has to come to. Long forgotten, dark whisps of memory slip out of the folds in his mind, startling him. Twisting his usually so calculating and precise thoughts. Something like unabashed wrath and reluctant protectiveness wars in his chest.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack Crawford lies beside his wife and stares at her shadowed form beside his. Sometimes it seems as if she is vanishing in the dark and his heart beats faster in panic, cold sweat breaking out all over his skin before he calms to the sound of her steady breath just beside his ear.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Derek has woken from the pile on the sofa and floor, seeing the shadows move. He roams the house and locks all the doors, draws all the curtains. When he comes back into the living room, he builds a steady fire in the fireplace in the corner of the room. With the flames protecting his back, he keeps watch over Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Allison, making sure the shadows never touch them. He tries not to think about the obvious gaps between the wolves, where lost members of the pack would fit perfectly.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Eight Years earlier-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Krystian watched as his daughter and their friends heaved the last boxes into the transporter. The pack was leaving, for university and for their safety. He understood and he wished them the times of peace that they deserved after the last two years. 

“I expect to be invited to the wedding.” he said to the man standing besides him. Red glowing eyes shifted towards him and Krystian didn't even bother to acknowledge the show of the wolf. 

“Of course. Even if I stood a chance of stopping her, I would not hold her back from her family.” Peter answered. “You are part of the Pack.”

The Sheriff was still slightly freaked out by that. Because he could feel the bond connecting him to these people and he couldn't imagine what it felt like for the wolves. He had felt as if his heart had stopped and his insides had turned inside out when Lydia had died. It had been worse with Scott. 

“You can come with us.” Peter offered, as he had countless times since they came to the decision that the Pack should leave Beacon Hills. Krystian heard the slight pledge in the man's voice, the hope of an Alpha to keep his Pack together. The older man just shook his head.

“I wont. Melissa and I will remain to guard the town, we talked about this.” he says calmly, Peter sighs and they both look over to where Allison scolds Isaac for dumping the last box a little to hard and where Boyd, Erica and Stiles are giggling behind Allison's back. He feels impossibly relieved that they can still laugh, can still have fun and still live.

“You will protect them.” Krystian states, though Peter still answers.

“I will.” There was a slight pause before he continued. “And Przeszlawa will make sure no one dares to strike against us.” Peter sounded as if he was stating an unchangeable fact and the Sheriff couldn't help but shiver. He had seen what had happened to the Alpha-Pack, he sometimes wished he could unsee it, but then he remembered what they did to Scott.

His daughter was a killer, a powerful sorceress, a member to a werewolf Pack and mate to the Alpha. 

And she was still sarcastic and partly insecure and a klutz. She was still Stiles, still his daughter. And he had to let her go.

Peter made his way over to the pack and Stiles turned and made her way over to her dad. Krystian's breath was a little shaky seeing the heavy limp and the cane his girl was leaning on. As soon as she was by his side he pulled her into his arms. He tries not to think of the long nights sitting by the hospital bed after she had almost bled out. He tries not to think about the horrible storm that had been in Peters eyes, when it had been uncertain if she would wake up. Krystian had seen the monster in Peters eyes those nights and knew that there would've been a path of destruction, if not for Stiles waking up. He tried not to think about the fact that they had only found pieces of the Darach.

“Buď opatrná.” he whispers to his daughter and she nods into his shoulder.

“Miluji tě tati.” she whispers back. They step back a little, their eyes meeting and they laugh, a little choked up.

“This is not forever. You'll call me every chance you get, okay?” 

“Okay.” she smiles up at him and bumps his shoulder with her fist. “You be careful as well, Dad.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Present-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The scene is at least three days old.

Will feels as if he's set in his bones for the first time in years and is almost relieved at the thought that it is over and they can proof none of the suspicions towards Dr. Hale. The crime scene itself is not as grand as the other two, most likely the reason it hadn't been found as fast.

The three bodies were lying on the floor in the shape of a three pronged star, their heads almost touching. Will didn't have to strain his imagination to see the aconite flower that must have been placed in the small space between them. 

These people had talked too much, so they had been put away silently. Hidden away so they couldn't tell their secrets. The stabs were clean and precise, the last steps to gather what was needed. The floor was flooded with their blood. There was no spiral, no words, just the smooth surface of red liquid.

In the three days in had hardened and cracked,but Will could imagine what it had been like when the murderer had stepped back from their work. He could almost smell the fresh blood cloy his senses.

A firm hand on his arm brought him back from his mind and he looked up into the hazel eyes of Dr. Lecter.

“Are you all right, Will?” he asks with that lilt to his language which, Will starts to recognize, makes his heart speed up a little. He shoots him a quick smile, despite the blood, despite the bodies and the certainty that the killer got away. 

“Yes, I'm okay.” he watches the stressed faces of the other FBI Agents, the hard and furious face of Crawford as the sourly Agent begins to realize that this one would not be solved.

“I have an appointment tomorrow morning with Dr. Hale, about the fever, the hallucinations and sleep-walking.” he continues and looks back up towards his... friend. “I would feel better if you came with me?”

The hazel sharpens into something familiar, though Will can't seem to put a name to it, and there seems to be a slightly too long silence before Hannibal answers with a nod.

“I will have to change some of my appointments, but I would not miss being at your side.” he says, again in this sincere tone that just carries between the two of them.

“Than-”

“Agent Graham, if you could come look at something.” their conversation is interrupted and their surroundings are intruding on their senses again.

“Of course.” Will answers but turns around to flash another tiny smile with an honest “Thank you.” towards Dr. Lecter.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Your brain is on fire.” Dr. Hale states after he came out of the MRI and he gets glimpses of dark blues and horrifying reds and yellows on the screens in the room she just came out of, as she steers him down a corridor and into a patient room. Dr. Lecter follows leisurely.

“That sounds bad.” he says and hopes that he doesn't sound too much like asking if he's going to die.

“Your not dying, yet.” she just answers and pushes him towards the bed. He obediently sits down on it. Then she bombards him with information of what exactly he has and how their going to fix it. His eyes stray towards Hannibal during the explanation and Will feels stronger in the steady presence. A weight falls off him as the realization slowly sinks in that he would not lose his mind, that he was not going to lose himself.

He's settling in when a nurse joins them to hook him up to several machines and an IV of heavy duty antibiotics. Doctors Hale and Lecter had migrated into a corner, discussing medical jargon in the time the nurse left and Will leant back and watched them.

There was something different about Dr. Hale than the last times he had seen her. She was uplifted, happier. He hadn't thought that she would be, because revenge didn't clean the soul, or relief grief. And thinking of the rituals and the cause of them, he wouldn't think she would be all right with seeing they didn't work. That it was all for nothing, as there was no way to bring back the dead.

Even though it is pretty early in the morning his eyes keep drifting shut. Just as he almost slips of into sleep, someone enters and he thinks he sees a huge, hulking, black creature, before he blinks and its just a man. Will frowns because the man doesn't belong to the hospital. There is something about him that doesn't fit.

Then Dr. Hale moves and they exchange a kiss on the cheek. Though they just touch lightly, it seems more intimate than just a greeting.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she asks softly and the blue gaze of the man is intense and focussed on just her.

“I wanted to see my wife.” he answers and Will is _awake_ while the polite gaze of Hannibal sharpens. 

Thoughts tumble in his still numb mind. Had he been wrong? Was he so caught up in his mind that he went somehow wrong? There had been so much that hadn't made sense. The strength, the scenes developing as if by magic, the ease of control without drugs or superior power, and still he had suspected, had known that the murderer had to be her. But now...

The whole reason the killer murdered these people was to get revenge, to get back the person that was taken from them. The person, who had been betrayed and killed. If Dr. Hale's husband was alive, then...

Who was the murderer?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

There is a short introduction and then the man, introduced as Peter Hale, is leaving with a final kiss to his wife and Hannibal excuses himself to follow him outside. Dr. Hale sends him a calculating look, but a warm smile and as he sees the man waiting for him outside, he knows why.

Peter Hale is a man of average height with nothing much catching ones attention, except for his eyes. It's not the colour or shape, more the focus, the mind behind them. His gaze was piercing and seemed all seeing. The man tilted his head to the side and Hannibal couldn't help but be curious, so he followed him, walking at his side.

There was a moment of silence between them as Hannibal waited for Hale to speak and he was not disappointed.

“I admit I am curious, Dr. Lecter.” the man says at last and there is sly humour as well as a warning in his voice. “How are your senses?”

“How do you mean?” Hannibal asks lightly, wanting to know where this conversation was going, always curious how things would turn. There was a reason, why he had called Garret Jacob Hobbs as a courtesy. 

“Did you notice them changing over the years?” Hale turns to him and the blue of his gaze is as sharp as Hannibal's kitchen knives. “Did they grow stronger?”

They continue walking and Hannibal does not respond, waiting for something to clue him in on the direction of the conversation. To tell him how to handle the man beside him.

They stop and Hale turns towards him, the wind blowing around them with the first warmth of spring.

“Can you still see as if it is day in the night and feel when somebody moves through the air?” he steps closer to Hannibal and smiles knowingly. “Could you smell the fever in Agent Graham's brain?”

There is a long moment of silence, where Hale waits and Hannibal knows that the man isn't waiting for an answer, but waits because he wants Hannibal to have the chance to deny everything that has been said. Everything that had just been implied. Hannibal stays silent and Peter Hale nods.

“Your wife.” Hannibal says suddenly and Hale lifts an eyebrow at him.

“What about her?” he asks and they continue walking.

“How did she become crippled?” Hannibal asks in return and knows he crossed a line when he sees the muscles in Hale's neck tense like ropes.

“There was a murder spree in her home town, rituals just like the ones that happened recently.” he answers instead of acknowledging the insult. Hannibal nods, because Jack Crawford had said something about this after the second murders. “The mad-woman had killed two of my wife’s best friends, when Przeszlawa became her ninth victim.” Hale sighed, his breath shuddering with memories.

“She barely survived.” he finished. 

“She's pregnant.” Hannibal says, like an apology and Hale nods.

“I know.”

“How do you know?” he asks and Hale grins at him with unrestrained happiness.

“I could hear their hearts beating inside of her as soon as I returned.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Your husband.” Will says and Dr. Hale turns towards him.

“What about him?” she asks cheerfully and he couldn't remember her being this happy before. He changes his question just before the words tumble out of his mouth.

“He's very protective of you.” he says instead, referring to the little touches and the focus of Peter Hale while talking to his wife. She smiles and nods.

“He wont ever let me go.” she says and though the words themselves are ominous, her tone is like a christening of relief. She settles herself on the visitor chair besides his bed and he leans back into his pillows as he watches her. “There was a killer in my hometown, a woman who had been disfigured and betrayed by a close friend.” Hale begins slowly, her voice a little distant.

“A childhood friend of mine, Heather, she was the first to disappear. They found her stabbed, strangled and beaten. More bodies turned up, same causes of death. She killed them to get their strengths, virgins for beauty, warriors for power, doctors for health and so on. I got involved mostly because of Heather and my Dad, he's the Sheriff in Beacon Hills.” Dr. Hale leans back in her chair and sighs. Will hangs on to every word. He wants to know what happened, why she was telling him this.

“I figured out the pattern. Then one of my friends, Lydia, my best female friend at the time, was murdered. She was a fierce, strong girl, a genius in math and social politics. I was devastated at her loss and I threw myself harder into the investigation, trying to find the one who had done all this unthinkable things.” she drew a shuddering breath and rubbed at her face with a wry smile.

“She found me first.” Dr. Hale looked tired again, the energy from before had slowly dwindled and the happiness in her demeanour too had faded.

“Peter and I had already met before that whole mess had started, we had already become very close as we both supported each other through losses in the family. We had planned to try a relationship after I graduated, we were pretty sure it would work.” she said and her smile grew brighter again and she shrugged at him in a way that told him it had worked for them.

“I escaped from her, barely alive. They found me, patrolling the woods and all I can remember, when I woke up four weeks later in a hospital bed, is Peter.” Will sees her wistful expression and tries to imagine loving someone like that. 

“He sat with me everyday, talking to me about everything. It was the first time that I believed him, when he said he loved me.” she shrugs and smiles and Will could almost see the shy teenager in that gesture.

“What happened to the woman?” he asks, his voice raspy with much needed sleep.

“The police found her in pieces in the woods. Apparently a pack of wolves had surprised her in one of the rituals and got the better of her.” there is a satisfied glint in her eyes as she remembers and Will falls into the well earned sleep of the drugged and exhausted.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They're lying in their bed, listening to the others sleep in the rooms a floor above them. Peters head is resting on her abdomen, listening and smiling contently, while Stiles fingers are tangled with his and just enjoys his warmth. The sound of his breath calms the rage that has been living inside of her for the past two months.

“Should we leave?” she asks him and he hums in indecision. 

“You have put down the threat and signalled a warning to everybody just thinking about taking our territory.” Peter says, his voice filled with pride. Stiles sighs happily. “Erica is finally controlled enough to start her training in the police force, Isaac is just short of getting a permanent position at the vet-clinic, Boyd will lynch me if I tell him to quit the job at the kindergarten, not to say what the kids will do when their favourite teacher leaves. No, I think we'll stay.”

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Not to mention that Derek is finally seeing someone.” she says with a smile and Peter sits up and looks at her, surprise on his face.

“Derek is seeing someone? Have you checked her for any evil tendencies, infernal plans or backstabbing betrayals?”

Stiles laughed. “ _He_ is called Jacob Rave and for now, we couldn't find anything wrong with him. Derek found him out on the trails while patrolling with the other Rangers, apparently he has no sense of direction.” she told him and smiled at his surprise. 

“Mmh, we'll see, hopefully Derek's luck with women wont apply to this guy. What does he do?” Peter mused and settled down again, most of his senses focussing back to the two tiny heartbeats under his wife’s skin.

“He is a waiter for that posh place down the street by the cinema, the Le Soleil Bleu.” Peter just groans slightly as her fingers caress the soft skin behind his ear. There is a moment of content silence, both of them just basking in the presence of the other, enjoying their mixed scents.

“What about Allison?” Peter asks after the last member of their Pack. 

“She's thinking of getting her own place with Cameron. She's still trying to figure out if she is comfortable enough to do it, though. She could use some reassurances from her Alpha.” she murmured almost asleep. She was exhausted and the stress seemed to finally catch up with her.

Peters lips brush hers in a gentle kiss as he climbs back up towards her and then he curls around her as they prepare to sleep.

“I'll talk to her.” 

“Good.” just before she falls asleep she whispers “I'm glad you didn't let go.”

“I could never set you free.” Peter whispers back.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Will is sitting across from Hannibal, both of them with a glass of white wine, which tasted better than anything Will had ever tasted, while they talk animatedly. There are a lot of jokes and smiles between them and neither of them can remember the last time they had that kind of conversation. They both hunger for more of this. 

It is a week after Will has been released from the hospital and though he is still on medical leave and various pills, he is feeling a world better than just three weeks ago. His mind is finally clear and focussed, his thoughts again sharp and the connections he can draw are as clear to him as a high-definition photograph. He is himself again. The empath that had more scrapped by Aspergers than serial-killer and that wouldn't change.

Will studies Hannibal as they talk about fishing and cooking, their respective passions, and his thoughts drift towards the conclusions he had come to in the last days. Hannibal had visited him often, told him how his dogs were doing as he was taking care of them in Wills absence. Will telling how he found or got every one of his little pack. They talked about their youth, their studies, the jobs they've gone through, people they met. He had come to two conclusions over those days.

“You just have to cook for me in the near future, Will. I would like to taste something you caught and then prepared to be eaten.” Hannibal says with true pleasure and Will thought abut the way Hannibal served all those meals, all the things he had _caught and prepared to be eaten_. 

“I would love to, after all those meals you made for me, it's only fair.” Will answers and his tone reveals that he truly means it. 

He would never breathe a word. He would never lose this.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it and it was at least worth the wait. Thank you for all of your kind comments and encouragements! Now I can finally go and watch season two of Hannibal and let it break my heart.
> 
> Ah, yes almost forgot, here are the translations for the Czech:
> 
> Buď opatrná. - Be careful.
> 
> Miluji tě tati. - I love you, Dad. 
> 
> I've got it off the internet, so I've no idea if it is correct. If it isn't, please tell me.

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Hate it ? Wanna know more? Let me know :)


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